


The Lovesong of Professor C Xavier

by mysterytour



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Lols, Nonsense, Parody, Poetry, TS Eliot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:48:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24477451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterytour/pseuds/mysterytour
Summary: In the room the X-Men come and goTalking of Magneto
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	The Lovesong of Professor C Xavier

Let us go then, you and I,  
When the evening is spread out against the sky  
Like a mutant, passed out inside a limo...  
Let us go, through certain Westchester streets,  
The muttering retreats  
Of gifted schools and quaint hotels  
And burritos in Taco Bells:  
Streets that follow like a tedious debate  
Of insidious intent  
Between old friends...  
To lead you to an overwhelming question...  
“Are we the next step in human evolution?”  
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the X-Men come and go  
Talking of Magneto

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,  
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,  
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,  
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,  
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,  
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,  
And seeing that it was a soft October night,  
Curled once about the mansion, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time  
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,  
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;  
There will be time to travel back in time  
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;  
There will be time to ruin and create it,  
And time for all the works and days of hands  
That lift and drop a question on your plate;  
(Erik, can you be so sure that you’re right?)  
Time for you and time for me,  
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,  
For temporal visions and revisions,  
Before the earl grey tea.

In the room the X-Men come and go  
Talking of Magneto.

And indeed there will be time  
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”  
Time to turn back and descend the ramp  
With baldness where I once had hair —  
(She will say: “Stay out of my head, Charles!”)  
My daytime suit, collar open at the throat,  
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)  
Do I dare  
Disturb the universe?  
In a minute there is time  
For decisions and revisions that a psychic may reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:  
Have known Bobby, Storm, Rogue  
Hank, Raven… Jean  
I have measured out their lives with coffee spoons;  
I know their dying voices with a dying fall  
Beneath a psychic wave—a doom.  
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—  
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,  
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,  
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,  
Then how should I begin  
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?  
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—  
Arms clad in lycra, yellow and blue  
(But in the lamplight, lose threads at the seams!)  
Is it the shimmer of a costume  
That makes me so presume?  
Arms that lie along an armrest, or wrap about a cape.  
And should I then presume?  
Call them to the Danger Room?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets  
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes  
Of lonely blue furred men, leaning out of windows? ...

I should have been adamantium claws  
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!  
Smoothed by long fingers,  
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,  
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.  
Should I, after the game of chess is won,  
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?  
But though I have wept and pondered, wept and prayed,  
Though I have seen my head (grown rather bald) brought in upon a platter,  
I am a mutant — and here’s no great matter;  
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,  
And I have seen the Eternal Specter hold my wrist, and snicker,  
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,  
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,  
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,  
Would it have been worth while,  
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,  
To have squeezed the universe into a ball  
To roll it towards some overwhelming question,  
To say: “I am the Phoenix, born from death and life,  
Come to obliterate you all”—  
If one, shaking his head and pulling out of reach  
Should say: “That’s not what I mean, Charles,  
That’s not it, at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all,  
Would it have been worth while,  
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,  
After the battle, after the car chase, after a force that shatters floors—  
And this, and so much more?—  
It is impossible to say just what I mean!  
But as if a green lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:  
Would it have been worth while  
If one, shaking her head and moving out of reach,  
And turning toward the window, should say:  
“That is not it, Charles,  
That is not what I meant, at all.”

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;  
Am a Professor, one that will do  
To shepherd progress, prevent a war or two,  
Advise the president; perhaps, an easy tool,  
Arrogant, perhaps, but glad to be of use,  
Politic, righteous, and meticulous;  
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;  
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—  
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old ...  
I shall wear the sleeves of my spandex rolled

Shall I unbutton my collar as such? Do I dare to eat a peach?  
I shall wear spandex and roll upon the beach.  
I have heard the horse-men calling, each to each.

I do not think that they will call to me.

I have seen them riding skyward on the wind  
Combing the white hair of waves blown back  
When fists blow faces, red and black.  
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea  
By horse-men wreathed in fire, red and brown  
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.


End file.
